It probably will get edited after the Rod, Scott & Derek poets' smackdown tonight. But here it is, anyway, and thanks, Caleb, for letting me STEAL THAT LINE from your homework!
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Unspoken Requests
tell me why I berate myself for every bittersweet impulse
incoming and outgoing dreams, flies swarming a dark screen
frozen by the multi-task, CTRL ALT DELETE
all I cannot see the binary end of, I would quash if I could
we’ve all been steeped like wayward leaves,
and the posh walls of this antique pot surround us,
stained yellow, we soothsay our own futures
clinging to the bottom for life or death: time is
a mustard wash, a pungent seed faith
the only power that sustains me, wary
of brash cliff edges, I guard the delicate
membranes stashed within
the surface tension like a soap bubble,
a clean prism of light, a playful hope
I can barely restrain myself from breaking
soaked through by red-breasted desire
wash me in mustard seed belief and I’ll be
whiter than snow, wash me and I’ll be
yours, free to lift my wings
or to nest in deep and somehow, keep
the snowdrift from smothering me
KEB
May 2005 |